


Miles To Go

by edelweiss123



Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Gen, M/M, awkward teen romance, future shock, pinescone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5226311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edelweiss123/pseuds/edelweiss123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time doesn’t work like most people think it does.</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>Wirt Palmer and Greg Whelan fell in a pond in 1985.</p>
<p>And five minutes--(or eight days)--later, they came back up in 2015.</p>
<p>And nothing would ever be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rip van Wirt-le

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my first fic (on AO3) and my first attempt at Pinescone! I adore both of these shows, and hope I do this small little fandom proud. I'll try to update on a regular schedule, but I work, and go to school full-time. Feedback, as always, is appreciated!

Time doesn’t work like most people think it does.

 

Aside from the fact that it can in no way be compared to a stream or a thread or a rug--(even though it does flow and wrinkle and other stream-thread-rug-like things, on occasion)--time doesn’t work or not work, it just _is_.

 

It skips, it hops, it reverses, it speeds up, slows down, up down left right _sideways_ \--the only constant time has is that it’s _not_.

 

Because, in the end, reality is an illusion, and time is just the mind’s way of dealing with that illusion.  It’s why a boring phone conversation can take an eternity while a lifetime with the ones you love passes in the blink of an eye.

 

It’s also why you must be extra, extra careful when sliding ( _falling_ ) between the gaps of one reality to another and back again, because time runs faster in some places than others.

 

Because Wirt Palmer and Greg Whelan fell in a pond in 1985.

 

And five minutes--(or eight days)--later, they came back up in 2015.

 

And nothing would ever be the same.

 

0o0o0o0

 

_Can’t see_ , was Wirt’s first thought upon opening his eyes to the murky underneath of the pond.

 

_Can’t breathe_ , was the second as his lungs burned with the effort of not swallowing more water, followed shortly by _Greg_! as the dead weight in his arms finally registered and he kicked wildly toward what he hoped was the surface.

 

For once, it seemed, luck smiled upon him, as he gasped his first real breath of air in--minutes?--hours?--days?---and, still choking on water, struggling to keep both his and Greg’s heads above the surface, his stinging eyes made out the earthen promise of shore.  Feet finally making purchase with the silty bottom of the pond, he clawed his way out of the water, squinting against the light of the sun ( _hadn’t it been dark out already?_ ).

 

He couldn’t hear the train anymore, certainly, though he thought he did hear people yelling past the ringing in his ears, but all distractions were shoved aside as he looked down and saw that Greg was still, eyes closed, _cold and entangled in wood about to-no no No NO NO!_

 

“Greg, no!  Please…”  His voice was barely more than a croak and his arms were burning, useless as he tried to force the life back into tiny lungs.  He cried out in panic as he was batted away, some stranger pulling Greg away from him as another set of arms ( _branches_?) held him bound.  There were words, being yelled around him, but they barely registered.

 

“Call---!---Parents?”  
  


“It’s----kay, she----CPR, he’s---”

 

“---long were---you need---?”

 

Three harsh blows right between his shoulderblades nearly toppled him forward, putting him at a good angle when half of the pond started pouring out of his throat.  As the last drips of water and bile hit the ground, he became aware that the same ( _arms, of course they’re arms_ ) that held him up had hands attached, hands that were rubbing soothing circles up and down his spine and a mouth that was muttering reassurances.

 

“Hey, hey--easy, you’re okay, you’re both okay--see?  My sister’s been CPR certified for like, two years now, so--”

 

Over all the other noise, he heard it.  A tiny gasp, a cough, water splashing as it hit the mud.  As he looked up in the direction Greg had been pulled, a cloud of curly brown hair and the girl attached to it moved aside and--and there was his little brother, sitting up in the mud, patting his chest like a septuagenarian with emphysema and looking around with a tired curiosity.

 

“Woah.  Hey guys.  Have you seen my frog?”

 

The laugh that escaped him then sounded more like a sob.

 

He had just enough time to register the stares of their two mystery saviors and his little brother before his battered body finally gave out and he slipped into a troubled unconsciousness.

 

0o0o0o0

 

Summers in Gravity Falls were always weird.  It was nearly as weird during the rest of the year, too, the twins had learned shortly after turning 15 and their summer home had suddenly become _home_ , full-stop--but if anything really off the wall or just downright bizarre was going to happen, it would occur sometime between May and September.

 

So when a half-drowned gnome look-a-like crawled out of the lake with an unbreathing be-kettled child and collapsed at their feet, well...it certainly wasn’t the _weirdest_ thing they’d ever seen, not even close.

 

But for Dipper, at least, there was something raw in the way the teen had cried for the other, his desperation striking a chord somewhere in his soul, and though he didn’t know their names or anything about them, Dipper knew that was the sound someone made when they were afraid for their siblings’ life.

 

And though he and his twin had saved lives before--each others’, countless townsfolk and the occasional unaware tourist--the biting edge of adrenaline this time was too bitter and sharp, no rush from slaying the beast or banishing the monster, just the knowledge that a life was slipping away--the life of a small boy--and they were the only ones holding onto the rope.  And while Dipper was still the one to panic of the two of them, though he had gotten better as he aged, he knew Mabel was not unaffected.

 

Though she rambled on beside him, rhetorical, outrageous musings on who (or what) the boys could be, her wild gesticulations couldn’t hide the fact that her hands were shaking.

 

“Or-- _gasp_ \--what if they’re time-travelers?  Like, they were there when the lake wasn’t a lake but then they jumped in time and landed _under_ the lake and--”  He high-fived her moving hand mid-air.  She stopped talking and looked at him, blinking.

 

“Uh...not that I don’t think high-fives are seriously underused and should be a legitimate form of currency, but…?”  Dipper shrugged and tried not to grin.

 

“Just passing back the throne.  Your CPR skills kinda put you back on top as far as King of the Shack goes.”  She beamed at him.

 

“Haha, yes!  The rightful Queen returns!”  She curtseyed as well as she could while sitting in a plastic waiting room chair.  “Fear not, humble peasant, for my reign shall be a long and awesome one.”  Dipper rolled his eyes.  It had taken him a month last time to get her to cede the crown--that was the rule, it had to be given, not taken--and he’d only been King for around a week.

 

“I was a King five seconds ago, how’m I now a peasant?”  She patted his hand.

 

“You’re totally right, that doesn’t make sense--you’d be the court jester!”  He flicked her forehead, a gesture that was immediately returned with a stuck-out tongue, and after about two seconds they both laughed at the same time.  When he looked at Mabel again, though, her smile had dimmed into something a little more sincere and a bit watery.  He pulled one arm around her in an awkward comfort side-hug, which she shortly returned.

 

“They’re gonna be okay,” she reaffirmed, mostly to herself.  Dipper nodded anyway.

 

“Yeah, you did good.”  After a few more seconds, they simultaneously released the hug, and Mabel sighed.

 

“How long do you think it’ll be before they wake up?”  She asked.  The little boy--Greg?--she’d saved had only stayed conscious long enough to enquire about his frog and a “wird”, whatever that was.

 

Before he could open his mouth to answer, a male nurse popped his head into the small room.

 

“Dipper and Mabel Pines?  The boys you brought in are awake now.  Come on back, we have some questions for you all.”  The twins stood immediately, Dipper raising an eyebrow.

 

“Not long, apparently.”

 

0o0o0o0

 

Awareness came back to Wirt a little less suddenly this time around, probably because his body recognized it was safe for the first time in...a week?  The sheets and bed beneath him, while not the pinnacle of comfort, were warm and dry.  A deep breath in carried the sterile, stale taste of hospitals and lysol and made his ribs ache, but any breath at all felt luxurious, so he took another.  As soon as his eyes focused, he searched out Greg, who looked terrifyingly small bundled up on the bed beside his, but appeared to be fine.  The steady beat of a second heart monitor assured him further.

 

They weren’t quite in a room--a white curtain hung from the ceiling and encircled their two beds, but he could hear the sounds of other patients and doctors and nurses beyond them--in what was probably the ER, given that they’d been…

 

They’d been drowning.  Oh, god, they’d been _dying_ and-and wandering around some sort of _Purgatory_ or Limbo or--he couldn’t even say for sure, maybe he’d never know.  He’d heard and read about near-death experiences, but they all seemed to revolve around a bright light and tearful reunions with dead relatives, not--not villages of skeleton people or animal schoolhouses or frog ferries or _soul-eating shadow creatures of absolute terror_ \--

 

The heart monitor next to him shifted tempo and he shivered, despite finally being warm.   _God_.  Sure, he’d been terrified before, actually facing down the Beast, seeing Greg slowly being returned to the earth, but now that the _implications_ of just what had happened were setting in…

 

It was too much--too, too much.  He didn’t want to think about it.  Nope. Never.  And hey, maybe...maybe it had just been some sort of...dream, or something.  A hallucination brought on by oxygen deprivation.  That was a thing, right?  He was a...pretty creative guy, he liked to think, surely his mind was..deep, and, eh, _dark_ enough to construct a place like the unknown…

 

_The woods are lovely, dark, and deep…_

Nope.  No.  Nuh-uh.  Poetry had gotten him into this mess in the first place, so no matter how _apropos_ it was, he…

 

Poetry.   _Poetry_.  And clarinet. And Sara and Jason and… oh, the _tape_!  He groaned.  Good.  Great.  No, really, perfect.  Surviving a train, a fall, a near-drowning and quite possibly the afterlife itself only to tragically die from eternal mortification was just the kind of dramatic irony he could appreciate, were he, you know, not about to tragically die from eternal mortification.  At least he knew what to expect…

 

And yeah, he still didn’t want to think about it.

 

Okay.  So maybe he wouldn’t _die_ from embarrassment, but the pitiful Dickens-esque waif that was his social life would surely perish.  He sighed, sitting up a bit more and looking towards the curtain.  His mom and step-dad weren’t around...possibly they were still filling out paperwork, or maybe hadn’t made it to the hospital yet.  He didn’t know how long they’d been out of it, though, come to think of it...he could have sworn the sun was up when he dragged Greg ashore, and it most certainly wasn’t when they fell in, so....well, there was no way they could have survived being under water long enough for the sun to rise...he must have been imagining things.

 

He hoped he was imagining things.  Like, all of the things, the whole thing.  Maybe he was still really asleep after deciding not to give Sara the tape…

 

But when was he ever that lucky?  No, Sara and a hundred other people were probably on their way to check on them...not that he thought that a hundred people actually cared that he’d nearly stupidly gotten himself and his brother killed, but it was a small town and people were curious.  He’d better prepare himself as much as he could to face everyone when they asked questions, so he could just tell them….

 

Yeah, he had no idea what he was going to tell them.  He scrubbed his face, wincing when his fingers caught a scrape and, for the first time, noticing the strange plastic clip on his left index finger.  He took it off and examined the red glow inside curiously, not noticing the sudden flatline that appeared on his heart monitor.

 

He definitely noticed--and made an embarrassing squeaking sound--when the curtain was suddenly brushed aside and a man in scrubs stepped forward, his look of concern instantly replaced with mild irritation when he saw Wirt.

 

“Please keep your oximeter on,” he said curtly, reaching out and placing it back on Wirt’s finger before he had a chance to do so himself.  He released the hand just as quickly though, and after taking a brief look at the readings that appeared on Wirt’s monitor, moved over to check on Greg.

 

Wirt opened his mouth to ask a question-- _is he okay_? or, _how long was I out_?--but the efficient nurse had already turned back to the teen and picked up a clipboard, paging through it.

 

“You’re both more or less fine--a little bruised, and your blood oxygen levels could stand to be a little higher, but unless further examination reveals anything more serious, you’ll be out of here in a matter of hours.”  He clicked his pen and scribbled something, finally looking up at Wirt.  “We’ll have to ask you and the kids that brought you in a few questions before you leave, though--and, of course, contact your guardians.”

 

Wirt, still reeling a bit at the man’s appearance, faltered a bit at that.  “My...parents aren’t… no one’s called them yet?”  The nurse raised an eyebrow.

 

“Kid, the ones that brought you in don’t even know who _you_ are, let alone your parents.  There wasn’t any kind of ID in your, er, costumes, either, so...names, and a number we can reach your parents at?”  He held his pen above his clipboard expectantly.

 

“Wirt Palmer and Gregory…..Whelan...”  He rattled off their phone number in a daze, which the nurse jotted down on the clipboard with deft strokes of his pen. He may have said something else, but Wirt barely noticed when the nurse left, too caught up in confusion and budding worry.  

 

There hadn’t been _anyone_ there when they surfaced that had recognized them?  Sure, he couldn’t say he recognized the two kids who’d saved Greg, which was odd...they were his age, and he knew most all the kids in his small-town high school, at least by appearance, but surely one of the kids in the graveyard had still been there, had thought to have someone call his parents.  Had even just _walked to their house_ to tell them, they didn’t live more than a few blocks from the cemetery….Surely, Sara, who hadn’t had a chance to listen to that stupid tape yet and was still at least his friend would be concerned enough... unless she had run off as soon as he went over the wall to listen to his mixtape with _Jason Funderburker_ …

 

Distracted as he was, he was still more prepared this time as the curtain was swept aside again as the nurse returned with two curly-headed teens, clearly siblings, that he realized a second later were the same ones that helped them out of the pond.

 

“Alright,” the nurse began before the teens could say anything, “first we need to know--”

 

A sudden commotion from the other end of the ER drew the nurse’s attention and he craned his neck around, cursing at whatever he saw there.

 

“Of course this happens on _my_ shift,” he muttered, carelessly slapping the clipboard down onto the small table at the foot of Wirt’s bed.  “Stay here,” he ordered all of them with a sweep of his finger before he himself swept out of the curtained room.  The two standing teens and Wirt blinked silently for a moment in his wake, and a moment later the voice of their busy nurse rang out from a distance.

 

“--a _turkey baster_ \--?”

 

Six eyebrows rose simultaneously.  Curly-haired guy grimaced, then said:

 

“I...really don’t even _want_ to know.”  The girl nodded with a glassy look in her eyes.

 

“Agreed.  That one’s going in the memory dumpster.”  

 

But as soon as it’d left, her focus returned.  She elbowed the boy beside her and as one they turned to Wirt, who was unwittingly graced with his first of many exposures to the combined force of the hesitant smile and megawatt grin of Dipper and Mabel Pines.

 

0o0o0o0

 

“Hi,” Dipper and Mabel greeted the bedridden teen in perfect unison, almost as if on instinct-- _twinstinct_ , Mabel liked to call it, but not Dipper because that was dumb.  The twin creepiness ended there though, as Dipper shoved his hands in his pockets and Mabel stepped forward to shake both of the guy’s hands, grinning like a psycho.

 

“That’s Dipper, my baby bro-bro--”

 

“-- _five minutes_ \--”

 

“--and you can call me _adorable_.”  She winked, releasing his hands to give herself dimples with her fingers.  “We have so much in common!”

 

Okay, _Dipper’s_ twin creepiness had ended.  He sighed and stepped forward to join his twin.

 

“I realize you’re like, physically incapable of not flirting with anything with a pulse,” he began as he eased his sister away from the bed a bit, “but the guy just got done almost _drowning_ , Mabel--” and might be on his way to a stroke, if the red flush on his face and sputtering were any indication--”so could you...maybe, take it easy?” She pouted at him.

 

“But I’ve been sitting on that line for _ages_ , Dipper!”  He raised an unimpressed brow.

 

“So, you thought of it yesterday?”  Her pout deepened and she hunched her shoulders.

 

“...the day before…”  He nodded, smug, then turned to give the guy a _one_ -handed shake, saw he was still kind of flustered, changed his mind, and stuck his hand back in his pocket.

 

“So, uh….”  Wow, they still didn’t know the guy’s name--they hadn’t let him say a single word yet.  Luckily, he seemed to catch on and offered his own introductions.

 

“Oh! Uh, right-names, we're doing names.  I’m, uh, Wirt and that’s,” he pointed to the other bed, “my half-brother, Greg.”  The little boy was still asleep, but looked much better than before.  The teen-- _Wirt_ , okay, and he thought his parents hated _him_ \--cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter, looking at Dipper first, then Mabel.

 

“I didn’t, uh, have the chance before, but...thank you, for--you know, saving Greg.  I couldn’t…” he trailed off, his hands white-knuckled where they gripped the sheets. A haunted look stole over his face, and both twins’ hearts broke a little for him.  They both knew how it felt to be in his shoes, but it must be so much worse when the other was just a little kid.  A shared look between the twins was enough to communicate yes, comfort first, questions later.

 

“We’re just glad you’re both okay,” Mabel assured him with a much-less flirtatious wrist-pat while Dipper dragged two chairs over to Wirt’s bedside.  

 

“Yeah, don’t even worry about it, man,” he scratched the back of his neck and grinned, plopping into his chair.  “You saved us from an entire day of fishing, so, we’re, like, even.”

 

“Alright, if you say so,” Wirt huffed an unconvinced laugh, but a tiny smile was edging in on the corners of his mouth.  It died quickly though, as the teen blinked rapidly and looked at the twins in confusion.

 

“No, wait--hold on-- _day_ of fishing? What...what _time_ is it right now?  How long have we been here?”  A little surprised at his urgency, Dipper nonetheless checked his wristwatch.

 

“It's nearly noon, so like… two hours? Since we pulled you from the lake, I mean.”

 

Wirt gaped at him, eyes wide.

 

“You--you're serious? You _can't_ be serious,” he looked between Dipper and Mabel as if one of them was about to tell him he'd been ker-prank’d, and the male twin felt that first twinge of _something isn't right_ that usually preceded a mystery. Years of conditioning saw his mind slipping into puzzle-solving mode in an instant.

 

“I’m completely serious,” Dipper assured him, easy smile shifting into a pensive frown. “Why, what's wrong?” Wirt’s lips were pressed into a thin line, and he'd drawn his knees up to his chest.

 

“It's--just that, well, that's _impossible_ because when Greg and I fell in the pond, it can't have been later than nine o’clock… “

 

“Well, that's… “ It was nearly unheard of to survive an hour underwater, but not impossible…

 

“... at _night_ ,” he added, and Dipper felt his eyebrows raise. Okay, yeah, there was _definitely_ something strange going on here. Then something else clicked with him.

 

“Um, did you say ‘pond’?”  Wirt gave him a perplexed look.

 

“... Yeees?” Dipper shot a quick glance at Mabel, who had been oddly quiet.  For her part, she had recognized the moment her brother caught the scent of a mystery and was watching him do his thing, ready to add her input when needed.  Dipper continued:

 

“We, uh… well, you weren't this morning. In a pond, I mean.  We pulled you out of Gravity Falls Lake.“  Were there any ponds that fed into the lake? By definition, a pond didn't--

 

Uh-oh. Wirt was looking a bit pale.

 

“Um, sorry, but,” The pallid teen scrubbed his face a bit, then returned to gripping his knees, “the what-what lake? I've never heard of a lake by that name around here.”

 

Never heard of _Gravity Falls Lake_ and he lived in Gravity Falls? No, not knowing of the town's single, eponymous lake was about as impossible as… well, anything in this town, frankly. But still…

 

“Where are you from, Wirt?”  The other boy stared blankly at Dipper.

 

“Uh… here?” Dipper bit his lip.

 

“And um, where is ‘here’, exactly?”  The blank stare continued, but Wirt’s grip on the sheets was slowly tightening.

 

“Uh… Lakeville?”  It was Dipper’s turn to stare blankly.  

 

“Oh my god,” Mabel blurted, unable to remain quiet any longer, “did you hit your head? Do you have amnesia or something?”  Dipper didn't think he had, but he agreed with the sentiment--Lakeville sounded like a placename one might find on one of Grunkle Stan's many fake IDs.

 

Meanwhile, Wirt was beginning to look a little bit frantic. He flapped his hands at them in distress.

 

“No, no, I-I remember everything, _everything_ ,” he repeated with a shudder, “believe me, I will never _forget_ \--uh.” He gave himself a little shake. “Anyway. Yes. Lakeville, Massachusetts. 9pm. Pond. That's… “ He trailed off, staring at Mabel. Or, more specifically, Mabels’ phone, which she had pulled out to confirm what Wirt was saying.

 

“Lesse, Lakeville, MA… “ she tapped into her map app, grinning when it zoomed in to the east coast. “Aha! Is this it?” She turned the screen to Wirt, but the boy just kept right on staring, eyes going wider as he caught sight of the display, as if he'd never seen-

 

Oh. _Oh_. This… was definitely not good.

 

“Mabel,” he began in a warning tone, but his sister just scratched under her headband, looking at her screen again.

 

“I have no idea how you could have gotten all the way _here_ by falling in a pond, talk about a wrong turn at Albuquerque-”

 

“ _I think they're a little more lost than that_ ,” he whisper-hissed. Mabel stopped mid-sentence to frown at him, but he must have been loud enough for Wirt to hear, too, because the other boy immediately jerked his head up to stare at him.

 

And then he started to tremble.

 

“You--I-- _oh my god_ ,” he croaked, all the blood in his face draining downward to aid his new jackhammer heartbeat.  He looked between the two of them, eyes wide and wild, and let out a harsh, high sound that approximated a laugh.

 

“We never even made it out, did we?  This is all still--” he flapped his hands in distress, a whine caught at the back of his throat.  “Is any of this even real? Am I still dreaming? Was I _ever_ dreaming?” He leaned forward suddenly, gripping Dipper (who did _not_ squeak) by the shoulders.

 

“Am I even _alive_?” he asked hysterically.

 

Dipper, who had been caught up by his previous revelation and the sudden explosion of movement and sound from Wirt, was startled back into action by the hands gripping him tightly.

 

“Wirt, _Wirt_ \--hey,” he said as authoritatively as possible with said boy's panicked face only a foot from his own. Dipper’s own hands came up and settled over top Wirts’, easily prying away the shaking limbs, despite the strength of his grip. But he didn't release the other teens’ hands once his shoulders were free; instead, he turned his own hands palm-up, letting Wirt anchor his grip there. Dipper knew how nice it was to have a grounding force when in the throes of panic, after all.

 

“You're fine, you're okay, you're, uh, _alive_ ,” Dipper assured him--(though he now had even _more_ questions after that little display).

 

Wirt searched his face for a moment, and whatever he was finding there must have been reassuring, because the death grip around Dippers’ hands gradually eased.  Wirt let out a shuddering sigh, his shoulders relaxing a bit, his gaze dropping… right onto their joined hands, which he had apparently not noticed until just then, because he jerked them away faster than if he'd been burned. Speaking of burning…

 

Wirt’s face had gone from pale to red so fast Dipper was slightly worried he'd pass out. Dipper was also slightly worried to note that Wirt’s blush had drawn some warmth to his own face. Blood in the water, and Mabel was a shark.

 

“Aww,” she cooed, metallic smile glinting.

 

“No.”

 

She smiled wider, but said nothing more. Dipper knew this would not be the end of it, though. Especially when she started quietly humming ‘ _K-I-S-S-I-N-G in a tree_ ’.

 

Maybe he should wake the other kid up. Increase the average maturity in the room.

 

He sighed, rubbing the hard-earned stubble on his chin. In all seriousness, he wanted to explain what he (suspected) was going on to the older teen first, before breaking the news to a kindergartener.  He chewed his lip, considering the teen on the bed, who still looked somewhat mortified, but swiftly recovering. He wondered where to even begin…

 

“So… I think I might know why--well, not _why_ , I don't know the specifics of what happened or even _how_ , really,” he began, then grunted into frustration. “Look,” he huffed, trying again, “you say you fell in a pond in Massachusetts, yet you exited a lake in Oregon. That's--those are the concrete facts, so far.”  Wirt gaped at him.

 

“Oregon? We're in _Oregon_?!” he squeaked. He visibly gathered himself. “Okay, okay-you did imply we were far from Massachusetts-- _really_ far… oh my god, how am I going to explain--I mean we'll need _plane tickets_ or something… “ He wrung his hands together.  “But… you said that we were, um, _more lost_ , than… that. What, um,” he grimaced, “what did you _mean_ by that?”

 

Dipper sucked in a slow breath through his teeth, letting it out as he glanced towards his sister.

 

“Mabel?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Could you pull up the calendar on your phone for me?”  Dipper had left his at home today, not keen on losing it in the lake. His sister looked at him in askance, but was already pulling up the app.

 

“Sure,” she chirped, and Wirt’s whispered ‘ _that's a_ phone?’ didn't escape his notice. Yeah, Dipper was now 99.9% sure his hunch was right, but he still had to break it to him…

 

“Did you forget what day of the week it is again?” She asked as she passed the device over. Dipper frowned.

 

“That happened once. After 46 hours of no sleep.”  She shrugged.

 

“Just checking!”  He rolled his eyes, then turned to Wirt, who was looking at the phone in his hands as if it might bite him.

 

(It might, actually, do much worse than that.)

 

“Just… look,” he said simply as he passed it to Wirt, who held it carefully with only his fingertips.

 

His brow pinched together as he examined the screen. “I don't see what--”

 

His expression went totally, completely blank.  And, if the monitor beside him was any indication, he may have stopped breathing.

 

After 15 seconds of silence, Mabel broke it. “Wirt… Dipper? _Dipper_ , what--”

 

She stopped, sharp reflexes the only thing keeping her phone from hitting the floor. Because Wirt had dropped it.

 

Because Wirt had fainted.

 

“... Uh.”

 

This was probably not going to end well.

 

0o0o0o0

 

_Whose woods these are I think I know._

_His house is in the village though;_

_He will not see me stopping here_

_To watch his woods fill up with snow._

_My little horse must think it queer_

_To stop without a farmhouse near_

_Between the woods and frozen lake_

_The darkest evening of the year._

_He gives his harness bells a shake_

_To ask if there is some mistake._

_The only other sound's the sweep_

_Of the easy wind and downy flake._

_The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,_

_But I have promises to keep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep,_

_And miles to go before I sleep._

 

\- _Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening_ , by Robert Frost.

 


	2. Panic! at the (Mystery Shack)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAH. This WHOLE THING was written on my phone. And I stayed up until 5am to get it out today. But, I'm more or less happy with it. (Less so with the chapter title--I'm open to suggestions.)

Breaking out of the hospital was worryingly easy, especially given that two of the four escapees were either asleep or functionally sleepwalking.  Of course, what lax hospital security there was probably hadn't counted on two teens that'd been trained by a veteran-conman with over 50 years experience.

 

It only took them about a minute to come up with a plan of action. Mabel decided she'd try and wake Wirt (her method consisted of smooshing his cheeks until he woke up so violently that he nearly headbutted her, and after his initial embarrassment at fainting, he seemed to remember _why_ he had fainted and settled into a vacant trance.)

 

Dipper snuck into the staff locker room. The two brothers were currently wearing nothing but flimsy hospital gowns, and their own clothes were still wet and covered in mud. He quickly raided the few unlocked lockers that had clothes, and ended up with a pair of floral print scrub pants, a t-shirt denouncing STDs, a pair of boxers, and an ugly orange sweater that honestly should have been left shoved in the dark corner of a broken locker where he found it, but, desperate times…

 

Meanwhile, Mabel had called Grunkle Stan. He had begrudgingly dropped them off at the hospital after the ambulance had taken Wirt and Greg, annoyed that their annual fishing trip was delayed, but understanding their need to make sure the people they'd helped were okay. Originally, they had planned on sending Soos over with the golf cart when they were ready to go home, but now they were going to need a quick getaway, which meant the Stanmobile.

 

It wasn't all that hard to convince him.

 

“Hey Grunkle Stan, can you help me and Dipper break two kids out of the hospital?”

 

“What? Kidnapping is like, one of the only crimes I _haven't_ committed,” he told her.

 

“So… is that a no…?”

 

“Are you kidding? I'll be there in 5 minutes.” A muffled ‘Soos! Make sure no one steals anything, I have a heist to get to’ sounded from the phone before it was hung up. Mabel turned and grinned at her brother as Dipper snuck back behind the curtain.

 

“Transport is secured!” she chirped, putting her phone away while Dipper started sorting the clothes. He tossed the boxers and t-shirt at the foot of Gregs’ bed for Mabel to redress the boy with.

 

“How long?” Dipper asked as he turned to Wirt next, offering up the scrub pants and sweater.

 

“Five minutes.”  Dipper raised an eyebrow.

 

“But the shack is at least ten--Uh, here, put these on so we can get out of here.” He shook the unfortunate outfit at the other boy, who hadn't reacted other than to stare at him. With a slow blink, Wirt hesitantly grabbed hold of the clothing. Dipper maneuvered another white curtain to separate the two beds, giving him some privacy.

 

In the 15 seconds it had taken to do that, Mabel had already stripped and dressed Greg, and was tying the back of the boxers’ waistband with a hair tie so they wouldn't fall right back off.  Somehow the little boy was still asleep.

 

“Dipper, it's only 10 minutes if you drive, like, 60 miles per hour,” she laughed.

 

“You do realize that's the speed _limit_ , right?”  She waved him off.

 

“Pssh, those are just _suggestions_ , like stop signs!” And Dipper was reminded again that maybe having Grunkle Stan supervise their driving lessons hadn't been the wisest decision. Then again, when he'd asked Grunkle Ford…

 

_“Hmm,” he scratched his chin, thinking. “It's been a few decades since I've been behind the wheel of car,” he admitted, then his face lit up. “But I did once repair and pilot a decommissioned space-dinghy off an intergalactic junkyard planet to flee the scrapfolk. I lost a bit of paneling while entering the escape orbit, but… “_

 

Somehow, Stan had been the (relatively) safer choice.

 

(Dipper still suspected his sense of risk may be a bit skewed. They all faced terrible danger on a near-weekly basis, yet he was convinced he would meet his end in a fiery car crash.)

 

The sound of a curtain being pushed aside returned Dippers’ attention to the present, and for a moment he feared the nurse had returned, but it was just Wirt, who was finished changing into-

 

Dipper bust out laughing. He couldn't help it.

 

The-- _woah, he's taller than I thought_ \--teen was wearing, yes, the flower pants, but whatever maniac had knit the ugly orange sweater had also placed the words _‘FOXY GRANDPA’_ in big, yellow block letters across the chest.

 

Wirt frowned mildly, looking down at the eyesore and picking a bit at the fabric.

 

“I'm kind of pretending this is all one big, mind-twisting fever dream right now, otherwise, I'd be a lot more upset.”

 

That sobered Dipper a little--right, this whole experience may be fairly standard for him and Mabel, but it was probably the worst day of this guy's life.

 

“Well, _I_  like it,” Mabel assured him. “It's like an ironic sweater, instead of an ironic t-shirt! Dipper didn't wear anything else for like, all of 9th grade-”

 

“Yeah, and you wore nothing but _yoga pants and sweaters_ -”

 

“Ironic? What's ironic about a terrible sweater?”

 

“ _Achoo_!“

 

All three teens jumped and turned towards Greg, Wirt stepping forward a little to peer worriedly at him.

 

His sneeze hadn't woken him up, the pudgy-faced boy still snuggled peacefully in the sheets.

 

It did remind Dipper of another problem they had, though.

 

“Uh. How many people do y’think would notice us carrying an unconscious child out the front door?”

 

“Hmm… “ Mabel frowned for a moment, thinking, then she gasped and snapped her fingers.

 

“I've got an idea! Dipper, go grab a wheelchair. Wirt, put on my shoes and give me your cute little hospital slipper things.” Dipper did as he was asked, not hard to find an unattended wheelchair in the ER. And Wirt already looked so ridiculous that Mabels’ hot pink too-small flip-flops didn't really make a difference.

 

“Alright, now what?” Dipper asked, then shortly wished he hadn't.

 

Mabel picked up Greg so his face and body were snug against her front, then she lifted the hem of her sweater up and over the boy until he was nearly covered by it.

 

“And the teen pregnancy epidemic claims yet another victim!” she cried dramatically, clutching her ‘stomach’. Dipper had to shield his eyes from the stupidity.

 

“You know we can still see his feet,” Dipper said from behind his hand.

 

“It's a breach birth, _duh_.”

 

“Oh my god,” he groaned, “I can't believe we're related.” He dragged his hand down his face in time to see her plop down on the wheelchair, then snag Gregs’ discarded gown, placing it over her lap and the boys’ exposed feet.

 

“Bam! Problem solved--I'm a problem-solver.” Dipper rolled his eyes, but he did have to admit, it… would probably work. Mabel always had been better at the seat-of-your-pants kind of planning.

 

“Alright, sure, whatever--let's just go before somebody sees us.” He grabbed the clipboard with Wirt and Gregs’ info on it--it wouldn't do for someone, other than him, to go looking up a couple of people displaced in time--and grabbed the bags containing the two brothers’ wet clothes. He handed one to Wirt, who looked too busy having his existential crisis or whatever to do much more than accept the parcel and trail behind the twins.

 

Their escape was mostly smooth, but near the front door they were stopped by an elderly lady who wanted to coo over the ‘mother-to-be’.

 

“My goodness! You look about ready to burst,” she tittered. Mabel beamed at her.

 

“It's because they're quintuplets! You see, the father is a werewolf, and their litters tend to be--”

 

“Ahaha, my dear sister is having hunger delusions again, just ignore her--well we better go feed her a couple dozen pizzas nice to meet you see you never bye!”

 

Dipper booked it out the front door, dragging Wirt along by the sleeve behind him. He leaned down to hiss through his teeth.

 

“What part of _inconspicuous_ do you not understand?” She shrugged, rubbing Gregs’ back through the sweater.

 

“The part where it's boring?”

 

“Ugh.”

 

Since it was somehow parked both on the curb _and_ in a handicapped spot, they spotted the Stanmobile quickly.  The man himself stepped out of the car as they approached, eyebrows raised.

 

“There's a kid in there, right?” he asked, pointing to Mabels’ belly. “I mean, a pre-made one, not--you know.”  She nodded, grinning.

 

“No one ever suspects the pregnant lady!” Grunkle Stan beamed proudly at her.

 

“That's my girl!” He ruffled the top of her head. Then he looked up and caught sight of Wirt, and laughed.

 

“Geez, kid, you look like you got chewed up by a thrift store and spit out with the rejects,” he summed up Wirts’ current look. Wirt narrowed his eyes.

 

“And you look like a half-blind shriner,” he retorted. Stan blinked.

 

“Half--oh! The eyepatch!” He flipped up the uneccesary accessory. “I was in such a hurry I forgot I was still wearing it!”  Dipper frowned.

 

“Did you really drive with that thing on?” Grunkle Stan just laughed and threw an arm around his nephew's shoulder.

 

“Kid, with my eyesight, it barely makes a difference!”  Dipper sighed. He should know better than to question these things by now.

 

Mabel had already ‘given birth’ to Greg--disgusting fake sound effects included--and crawled into the backseat with him, buckling them up with the boy on her lap.

 

“C’mon, guys! This is like, the slowest getaway ever!”

 

Grunkle Stan patted Dipper’s shoulder and moved back to the driver's seat.

 

“She's right, we're getting rusty! Shove that wheelchair in the trunk and let's go!”

 

“I'm not stealing a wheelchair,” Dipper rolled his eyes and pushed the wheelchair back towards the hospital door. Grunkle Stan narrowed his eyes, pausing in the open car door.

 

“Alright then,” he pointed at him, “but the next time one of us breaks a leg, _you_ will be the one carrying them from room to room,” he warned, then finished getting in the car. Dipper huffed.

 

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” he muttered, opening the door opposite Mabel, but paused, looking back at Wirt.

 

“Um,” he looked at the two available seats, then back again at Wirt, who was wringing his hands together nervously. “So, do you want the middle, or…?” He scratched the back of his neck. Guests normally got stuck with the more-cramped middle seat, but…

 

Wirt hunched his shoulders a bit. “The, uh… actually, the window seat? If it's okay--I mean, if you don't care. I can definitely handle the middle seat if you want--it's just, I get a little, uh, not _carsick_ but kind of, um.. “

 

Dipper waved him off, trying to reassure him. “Nah, it's cool man--you take the window seat,” he decided for him, hopping in and scooting over to the middle.

 

Dipper had already noticed that Wirt was a little (okay, a lot) high-strung, which was totally understandable given the circumstances, but he still didn't like seeing him get so uncomfortable over a simple question.

 

“Oh, um--thanks,” he hesitated a moment longer, then followed Dipper into the car, buckling up and closing the door with skittish hands.

 

“ _Finally_ ,” Grunkle Stan grumbled, then floored it, backing out of the hospital parking lot faster than most people drove driving forward.

 

They hit a speed-bump, sending all of them a few inches off the seat. Mabel cheered. Dipper winced. And Wirt was looking a bit pale again, gripping his seat until the ancient leather creaked.

 

“Uh,” he squeaked, looking at Dipper with wide eyes. “Is this-is this _safe_?”  And Dipper could only give him an apologetic look and a pat on the shoulder.

 

“Welcome to Gravity Falls, man.”

 

0o0o0o0

 

Wirt had not been having a good week. To put it mildly.

 

His unwilling participation in the reenactment of an episode of Dukes of Hazzard had only been the latest such travesty, and fell somewhere in the middle of his “things I'd like to never do again” spectrum, a span which had been broadened greatly in the past week.  It started at ‘this is kind of embarrassing’, then traveled up through ‘ouch that hurt’, to ‘I can't breathe’, past ‘oh my god how am I still alive’, and finishing off at ‘ _I WILL NEVER NOT HAVE NIGHTMARES AGAIN_.’

 

He wasn't quite sure where to place ‘oops, I've fallen forward in time’, yet.

 

Mostly because he was still trying to pretend that it hadn't happened.

 

(He was pretty sure he was still in shock.)

 

As soon as the car had parked--(well, fishtailed to a stop)--he took a moment to ensure all of his organs were in their proper places, then jerked open the car door and exited on shaky legs.

 

“I think--I'm going to take up walking. Which I thought I'd had enough of, but--nope. Nmm. Walking. Everywhere.” He saw Dipper climb out next, the other teen grimacing and scratching the back of his neck.

 

“I--man, I'm really sorry about that, Wirt,” he started. He slammed the door shut with his heel. “I guess I've just had a few years to get used to it?” He shrugged, then stepped forward, palms up. “I guess I didn't think about how, um--I mean, you've already had a _really_ rough day--”

 

“Ooh, a gift shop!”

 

Greg! Greg was finally awake. He hardly noticed that Dipper stepped aside without having to be asked as Wirt all but rushed around to the other side of the car, where Mabel was holding Greg up to get a better look at the--err, ‘Mystery Hack’.

 

Gregs’ face shifted from curious to a blinding smile as soon as he caught sight of his brother, and Wirt didn't know how to feel about that at _all_ , though his gut reacted by doing some spectacular gymnastics.

 

“Wirt, look! A gift shop!” He tilted his head to look at Mabel. “Do you think they have salt water taffy? Or tiny snowglobes?” She winked at him.

 

“No taffy, but we've got some _Mabel_ -maple fudge, and snowglobes in all _kinds_ of sizes!”  Greg looked suitably impressed.

 

“Wow, do you work here Miss Sweater?” Mabel laughed in delight.

 

“I don't just work here, I live here!” Greg gasped.

 

“That's amazing,” he said almost reverently. She ‘booped’ his nose.

 

“It is! And my name is Mabel, but you can call me Miss Sweater if you want!” Greg tilted his head, considering, then shrugged.

 

“Mabel is shorter. And what would I do if you didn't want to wear a sweater one day?” He reasoned.

 

“I wouldn't worry too much about that,” said Dipper, who had drifted over to join the other three, watching Greg and Mabels’ exchange with amusement.

 

Wirt, too, was drinking it all in. Greg… was fine. His brother was fine, not traumatized at all by the same things that had left Wirt a nervous wreck, and while that only deepened that sick sense of shame in his gut ( _what's wrong with you how could you be so_ weak-) it also felt like a heavy weight had been taken from him. He hadn't ruined his brother, he wouldn't have to explain to his mom why--

 

Ah. Right.

 

It was possible he really _wouldn’t_ have to explain anything to his mom. Because he and Greg were stranded, thirty years in the future, and he had no idea when or how (or even _if_ ) they were getting home.

 

He was still in shock, but it was beginning to wear off. And underneath it, there was only panic.

 

He could hold it together a little longer, though. He _had_ to. He would never break down and leave his brother, his _six-year-old_ brother, to handle things. Not ever again.

 

 _You are the_ elder _child! It's your burden to bear!_

 

That's what he'd been told, and he'd ignored it, and Greg had nearly died. _Three different times_ , he'd been an inch away from getting his brother killed.

 

Wirt was kind of used to being a failure, but this… this was a new, unforgivable low.

 

So as he pondered these things, he watched the other three silently, their laughter and banter an incomprehensible backdrop for his inner turmoil--like the eye of the storm, but in reverse.

 

He watched as Mabel and Greg formed a bond nearly instantly, their vibrant, quirky personalities feeding off each other, and Dipper--

 

\--was staring at him, brow furrowed. Oh, dear. His hands came together and twisted, a nervous habit.

 

“We’d better head inside, guys,” the male twin told them all, though he was still watching Wirt out of the corner of his eye.

 

Mabel cocked her head, and then the twins shared a _look_ , and Wirt had no idea what they were communicating or _how_ , but he did see Dippers’ eyes flick back to him once, briefly, and then Mabel nodded.

 

“Right! If you think the outside is cool, just wait ‘till you see _inside_ the shack, Greg!” He ‘oohed’, kicking his little legs back and forth in eagerness, and she shifted her grip on him.

 

“Do you want down?” she asked. He pursed his lips, looking at the ground and back to her.

 

“If I get down now, can I get a piggyback ride later?” He bargained. She laughed.

 

“Of course! You can even have a _real_ one if you want!” His mouth formed an ‘O’ of surprise.

 

“You know a real live pig?” She set him down on the ground, ruffling his hair.

 

“Yep! His name is Waddles. I won him at a fair, and he is literally the best pig in the world,” she declared. Greg looked absolutely star-struck.

 

“Can we see him now? And the gift shop too?” She reached down for his hand, which he took immediately, and started walking slowly towards the shack.

 

“Of course! We'll tour the shack first, and then visit Waddles--he's probably still taking his afternoon nap.” Greg nodded.

 

“I don't have to take naps anymore, but sometimes I still like to,” he admitted. He stopped, turning back to look at Wirt when he noticed he wasn't following.

 

“Come on, Wirt! We're going to look at some tiny snowglobes! And some giant snowglobes!”  Wirt swallowed. He really, really didn't feel like--

 

“Actually,” Mabel told Greg, squeezing his hand to get his attention, “Dipper,” she pointed to her twin, “needed to talk to Wirt about some nerd stuff, so it'll just be you and me!” She enthused. Greg looked at his brother, though, still concerned.

 

“Don't you want to see the gift shop, Wirt? You said you liked gift shops that one time at the beach.”  He did, actually--they were often kitschy and charming, in an odd way, an offering of tokens and trinkets meant to tie the impermanent aether of a memory to reality, nostalgia given form--but right _now_ …

 

“I… uh... “ It was Dipper this time, who saved him:

 

“Why don't you let Mabel show you now, and later, when Wirt wants to see it, you can be his tour guide,” he offered to Greg, and it was obviously the right thing to do, because Greg looked excited again.

 

“That's even better!” he agreed, letting Mabel start leading him inside again. “This is the best day ever,” the six-year-old ‘whispered’, but Wirt still heard.

 

Oh, the irony. And _actual_ irony, not a weird phrase on a stolen sweater.

 

As soon as the door closed behind the two, Dipper turned towards Wirt, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

 

“So, I was thinking--you probably want to go somewhere kinda quiet, right? And, uh, private,” he added. Wirt nodded jerkily. Now that his brother was gone--out of his sight, but definitely in good hands--he could feel the rest of his composure crumbling rapidly.

 

“Yes, yes, please--I really need, just,” he made a vague gesture towards the shack, but it was enough for Dipper, who started leading them around to what looked like the house portion of the building.

 

They passed a ratty old couch on the front porch, but Wirt didn't notice too much else about the interior other than a seemingly endless set of staircases as the promise of somewhere isolated in which to have his meltdown narrowed his focus to making sure he put his feet where they were supposed to go, and following Dipper.

 

Finally, Dipper pushed open a door atop another staircase, and revealed a room with a sharply-slanted ceiling, bare-wood walls, paper and clothes and other detritus _everywhere_ , but despite all this his first impression was _comfort, familiar, safe_ \--it was almost like his own bedroom ( _was it still as he left it, covered in 30 years of dust, was it redecorated to a guest room, or even a sibling he'd never met, or had they moved, or, or, or_ \--)

 

Ah, _there_ was the breakdown. It was kind of like being nauseous, he thought, as he stumbled his way across the floor at a near-run and collapsed onto the nearest raised surface (which just so happened to be the bed). You knew you were going to puke, and you didn't actually want to puke, but it was inevitable so it was still kind of a relief when it happened because _I just want this to be over I want this to_ stop--

 

He flinched when a hand brushed his shoulder, and he realized he was sitting hunched over, face nearly between his knees and hands pressing against the side of his face, because he had to lean back and look up to see the other teens’ face, which was apologetic.

 

“Sorry! Oh, man--sorry, I just--you were uh, kinda starting to hyperventilate, and I just didn't want you to overdo it and, you know. Pass out. Again. Um,” he cringed, and an automatic huff of laughter escaped Wirt, though there wasn't any humor in it.

 

Honestly, the peaceful dark of oblivion, even if brought about by lack of oxygen (again) sounded somewhat appealing, if only to delay the accelerating spiral his thoughts were tumbling down. And yet…

 

The last time he'd (voluntarily) gone to sleep, he'd awakened to find himself wrapped in edelwood and Greg, gone, spirited away by the beast…

 

And there went sleep as an option. On top of all the Taoist ‘am I dreaming of butterflies or am I a butterfly's’ dream’ confusion that switching between--realities? States of life? --had left him, now neither reality nor dreaming, whichever he was in now, was a place he wanted to be…

 

But did it even matter what was reality and what wasn't, when it _all_ felt so real?

 

“Wirt. _Wirt_.”

 

“Uh--uh huh?” He managed between gasps--oh, he was hyperventilating again. His eyes focused in again on Dipper, who was looking even more worried than before.

 

“Look, man-I get it. I really do. Ask anyone here and they'll tell you about some truly epic freakouts I've had, and over way stupider stuff than this--well, most of them. _Anyway_ ,” he raked a hand through the hair on his nape, blowing out a plosive breath. He clapped his hands together, assumed a determined expression, then turned and sat right beside Wirt on the bed-not quite touching, but only by a hair. Wirt felt his anxiety ratchet up another level, but returned to his baseline near-hysteria when after several seconds Dipper made no move to come any closer. The curly-haired teen cleared his throat.

 

“So… you should breathe with me.” Wirt side-eyed him.

 

“I… beg your pardon?” Dipper coughed, a rosy hue creeping into his cheeks.

 

“I mean--like, guided breathing, matching your breathing to mine. You only breathe in and out when I do. It's--it's a relaxation technique. Here, just--” he rearranged himself so he was mostly facing towards Wirt, who had turned his head fully to look at him.

 

(It also caused their knees to touch. Wirt barely even noticed, caught up in Dippers’ determined-yet-earnest gaze.)

 

“On the count of three, take a deep breath and hold it. Ready? One, two, three, _inhale_ ,” Dipper prompted, following his own instructions, and Wirt followed with his own gulp of air.

 

“Exhale,” he said after a few seconds of held breath. And then he started again.

 

After about the fifth time, Wirt began to notice himself relaxing. He was also reminded that his ribs still hurt, but somehow that dull ache only served to ground him.

 

More importantly, he could feel the panic ebbing away with each cycle, and he almost expected to see some dark, nebulous cloud of panic and negative emotion expelled with each exhale.

 

After 10 cycles, Dipper stopped and nodded to himself.

 

“Okay. Do you feel better, or do you want to keep going?” Wirt took one last deep breath, and let it out with a sigh.

 

“I… much better, now. Well, as much as possible, considering… but yes. I… ” he gave the other boy a tentative smile. “Thank you. That was--really helpful. Um,” he hesitated when he noticed Dipper was staring blankly at him, but the other teen shook himself.

 

“Ah, sorry--just, uh, thinking--” he gave himself another little shake, “ah, would you--do you want to talk about it? I mean, you'll have to talk about it eventually, but--ah, crap, I'm terrible at this,” he muttered, tugging at a loose curl. He leaned slightly forward, placing his palms flat on the top of his knees, and Wirts’ gaze flickered down for just a second where the tips of his callused fingers were just barely brushing his own ridiculous pants.

 

“What I was trying to say, was--if you want to talk about it now, I'll definitely listen, but if you wanted--I don't know, to rest, eat something, or for me to just leave you the hell alone, just uh… “ he shrugged. “Whatever, just let me know, okay?” Dippers’ smile was pure sincerity with a hint of embarrassment.

 

Wirt was both touched at the level of consideration being shown to his person and flustered by the personal attention. The end result was that his chest felt pleasantly warm, but so did his face, minus the pleasant part. It was also why he stared back at Dipper with what was probably a dumb expression on his face as his poor brain tried to process the simple question and simultaneously suppress the apparent coup d'etat being staged by his circulatory system.

 

“Uh. I… think I'm hungry?” He finally replied, then pulled a face. That had been a dumb thing to say. “I mean, I _am_ hungry--and I think I'd… like to, uh, take care of that first,” he clarified. Dipper nodded, rising from the bed.

 

“Okay, then I'll um,” he placed his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to the door. “Did you want to go downstairs, or I could just grab you something…?” Wirt hesitated. He didn't want to trouble Dipper any more than he already had, but he also really didn't want to go downstairs just yet.

 

The past few hours/week/thirty years had not been easy on him, and he was mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted.  He didn't have much energy to deal with people on the best of days, let alone right now. And of the few people he'd met in Future-Oregon, Dipper was by far the easiest to be around. Going downstairs meant a possible run-in with the somewhat-intimidating Stan, or the exuberant Mabel, or a curious Greg. So…

 

“Could you… Just bring something up?” He grimaced. “I'm sorry, I just--just, um, bring me whatever is easiest, I don't care.” Dipper snorted.

 

“Dude, I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to do it,” he assured with a bemused smile. “Besides, I'm kinda hungry too, so I was going to grab something anyway. We can just eat up here, I do it all the time,” he waved his hand, gesturing to the empty wrappers, plates and cans congregating on his desk, “obviously.”

 

Dipper had called out ‘be right back!’ as he started down the staircase outside his room, and in actuality wasn't probably gone all that long, but being completely alone again meant Wirt had time to stew in his own thoughts without distraction.

 

He and Greg were in the future. The _future_. It had taken him a good three seconds to realize just what he'd been looking at on Mabels’-- _phone_ , he still couldn't fathom it, something straight out of science fiction, but it looked so _simple_ \--because ‘2015’ didn't even look like a _year_ to him, it was just _numbers_.

 

And when he did realize, well… the less said about that, the better.

 

But. What was he going to do? He figured they had traveled here via the Unknown, somehow, but he barely understood how they'd gotten _there_ , either, other than the fact it probably required you to be near death--and he wasn't planning on doing _that_ again anytime soon…

 

And even if accessing the gateway or whatever that brought them there meant going back via the Unknown, how would they even do that? Jump back in the lake and hope for the best? And what if it only went one way? What if they really were _stuck_ \--

 

Wirt was grateful Dipper waited five seconds after knocking to open the door, because it meant he didn't see Wirt jump like a startled puppy at the sudden sound. He rose to open the door, but Dipper had already pushed it open with his foot.

 

He had brought back plenty of food, as promised--some sandwiches, crackers, fruit, drinks--but he'd also come back with a pensive frown on his face. Wirt faltered for a second at that, then slowly sat back down.

 

“Are you.. Okay?” Dipper continued into his room, placing his burdens on top of an old steamer trunk, which he scooted up to the edge of the bed to use as a table. He then moved a stack of books from his desk chair and pulled it to the other side of the trunk.

 

“Hmm?” he responded absentmindedly. “I'm fine, just… thinking.” He sat down in the chair and grabbed a sandwich, one of four on the plate. He gestured to the two drinks. “You want the water or soda?”  Wirt had never even heard of Pitt Cola, and wasn't eager to try some kind of weird future soda. Besides:

 

“I'm not really a soda kind of guy,” he admitted as he grabbed the-- _bottle, how fancy_ \--of water. He took a sip. It tasted… like normal, ordinary water. Which begged the question of why it was even produced or, more importantly, why people bought it.

 

“Suit yourself,” Dipper said with a smile as he popped the tab on his drink, a smile that was gone by the time he'd finished his first gulp. Wirt, who had taken a too-large bite of his PB&J, stared at the sudden change, and had to swallow three times in rapid succession to clear his mouth of peanut butter.

 

“What?” He asked a little curtly in response to Dippers’ intense look. Dipper finished his last bite of sandwich and put his soda down, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.

 

Uh-oh.

 

“I ran into Greg and Mabel in the kitchen,” he told Wirt, the content and tone of the statement not what he'd been expecting. Dipper didn't sound mad, just questioning.

 

“O-oh?” Wirt responded eloquently.

 

“Yeah. Apparently about five minutes into the tour he'd said he was hungry.” Wirt snorted.

 

“That sounds about right,” he muttered. But it didn't explain Dippers’ behavior. Had Greg trashed the kitchen or something?

 

“Did Greg trash the kitchen or something?” Dipper blinked a few times.

 

“Did--what? No. I mean, it's a mess, but that's Mabels’ fault--no. No, Greg is fine, but… “ Wirt felt his chest go tight.

 

“But what?” Dipper considered him for a moment, lips pursed and brow furrowed.

 

“He was just saying some interesting things, is all.”  Wirt huffed.

 

“Yeah, that sounds like him, too,” he mused.

 

 

“Wirt.” And oh, that was a pretty serious voice; Wirt swallowed reflexively. Dipper had leaned forward, too.

 

“... Yes?”

 

“If we're even going to have a chance of getting you home, I need all the pieces of the puzzle--”

 

Oh.

 

“--so I need you to tell me--”

 

Oh, no.

 

“--where you _actually_ were before you came out of the lake.”

 

Wirt bowed his head, staring at the floor, white-knuckled grip on the hem of his terrible sweater.  He… really… didn't want to talk about it. But… if there was a _chance_ …

 

“... okay.” His voice felt very small.

 

…

 

On the (only) bright side, he wasn't hungry anymore.

  


0o0o0o0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my duty, by birthright, to have as many chapters as I possibly can end in some sort of cliffhanger. (Just so everyone knows ahead of time :) )
> 
> EDIT (11/30/15): I just noticed that AO3 ate all the italics, so I went back and fixed them : I


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY this took so long, but between finals and the holidays and my sudden art-kick (and this chapter kicking me every chance it got) before I knew it, 5 weeks had passed...
> 
> Constructive feedback is appreciated!

_Okay_ , Wirt had said before some internal gravity seemed to condense him to half his size in response to Dipper’s request.

 

No, not request, his _demand_. Dipper grimaced, unseen by Wirt because the other boy was so unsettled he couldn't even _look_ at him, of course not, Dipper _knew_ the guy was having a rough time, had just helped him recover from a near panic attack, promised he wouldn't push him to talk, then turned around and basically told him he can't go home unless he relives what was obviously a traumatic experience…

 

Dipper had learned to be more assertive as he aged--mostly as a byproduct of just living the life he had, as the supernatural things he dealt with didn't usually respond to politeness--but he never wanted to be some ultra-macho jerk that just trampled over people; he'd learned that lesson the hard way after the manotaur incident.

 

“Ah, hell,” he muttered, still staring at Wirt, who looked up. Dipper felt his grimace sink in deeper. Because he'd also promised himself, after learning more about Ford, that he'd never let his thirst for mysteries hurt people.

 

“What?” Wirt asked, defensive and small. Dipper sighed.

 

“Look, Wirt, I…” What could he say? Jesus, he was bad at this, “I... Really _do_ need to know more about whatever it is that happened to you and your brother,” he rushed out, “but, um… only the… gist of it? Like, you're obviously uncomfortable and that's not what I wanted at _all_ \--” he babbled, waving his hands, and a corner of Wirt’s mouth ticked up.

 

“That's, um, it's fine,” he said, body slowly expanding from the hunched ball of before. “To be honest, ‘uncomfortable’ is kind of like, my natural state of being,” he admitted, shifting his grip from the bed to his upper arms. Dipper let out a startled laugh.

 

“Haa, I know what you mean. I never feel even half as confident as I seem, I think,” he told Wirt, who looked at him, surprised.

 

“Really? I mean, you seem,” he gestured wordlessly at Dipper, looking a little flustered, “well, like you've got your act together,” he finally said. Dipper’s smile this time was a little more self-deprecating.

 

“Yeah, well, an ‘act’ is about all it is.” He shrugged. “I think everyone feels that way,” he mused, “it's just some people are better at faking it than others.” He snorted. “Except Mabel. She is exactly as confident as she acts.” Wirt smiled, a little wider this time.

 

“Yeah, I uh--I could see that. Greg is the same. Like, to the point of making you wonder if he was born with no self-preservation.” He ran a hand through his bangs, making his hair a wild mess. Some of his hair was even sticking straight up, and it was very…

 

_Cute!_

 

… _distracting_ , it was just distracting, no matter what his inner-Mabel thought.

 

(And he knew he maybe spent too much time around his twin when she didn't even have to be _present_ to try and embarrass him about the people he liked.)

 

... _liked_?

 

_…_ Liked. _Shit_.

 

(And he would make time later to freak out over this, because Wirt was still talking.)

 

“A few days ago, he just--attacked this giant, slavering wolf monster with the wrong end of an axe. Just--” he mimed holding something like a baseball bat, “hitting it! I had to get him to run before it, you know,” he made claws with his hands, and Dipper nodded.

 

And then the content of the story actually reached his distracted mind. He sat up straighter.

 

“So,” he began as casually as his raging curiosity would allow him, “there a lot of wolf monsters in Massachusetts, then?”

 

Wirt paled. And Dipper felt like a bit of a dick again.

 

“Not--not--no, but… “ he sighed, burying his face in his hands. His voice was muffled when he spoke again. “I don't want to talk about it, but I kind of do, too.”  He raised his face to look at the other teen despondently. “Does that even make sense?”  Dipper felt a pang of sympathy, because yes, yes it did.

 

“I get it, man. And really, it's okay,” he soothed. “The last thing I want is for you to feel pressured, but something bad obviously happened. And I can tell you from experience that trying to ignore it or pretend it didn't happen isn't… “

 

_\--a flash of blue flame, laughter, heat, agony--_

 

“...Well, it won't make anything better, and things like that… fester,” he finished on a slight shiver. Wirt looked at him a little worriedly, and Dipper wondered if he had spaced out for a moment. The look was soon gone, however, pushed aside by whatever internal turmoil was boiling beneath Wirt’s skin.

 

“You’re right, you're absolutely right, but whenever I think about… I start to panic and maybe I'm still in denial? Except I _know_ it was real--even though I really _wish_ it wasn't, so… “ He threw up his hands, frustration oozing from his expression.

 

“Ugh! Why is this so _difficult_ ? You probably won't even _believe_ me, so I don't know why this is so… “ Dipper looked at him incredulously.

 

“Wirt, you travelled through _time_. There are very few things you could possibly say that I wouldn't believe.” Wirt blinked at him owlishly.

 

“You… huh. I mean, the--the time travel is more sci-fi than… pure _fiction_ , but I guess it kind of--” he stopped speaking abruptly, teeth clicking together. He stared at Dipper with a look of dawning confusion.

 

“You... Instantly believed me, about the--the time travel. Except, no--you _figured out_ we were in the wrong time before _I_ did. How--that's not a logical leap to make, not that fast--unless… oh my _god_ , is time travel _real_?” He smacked himself on the forehead. “I mean, it's _real_ , obviously, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't, but it's like, a common enough thing?” He asked hopefully.

 

“Uhm… no? Yes?” He scratched the side of his head. “It's… not _common_. Yet. Because it hasn't been invented. Yet.” Wirt tilted his head, a little skeptical.

 

“Yet? How do you know for sure it will be?” Dipper just stared at him, slowly raising an eyebrow. He saw the moment Wirt understood.

 

“It's-- _time travel_ , you idiot,” Wirt smacked himself on the face again--Dipper was a little concerned he'd start leaving a mark if he facepalmed any harder--”people wouldn't only travel _forward_ … “ He looked at Dipper. “I'm not the first time-traveller you've met, am I?” Dipper chuckled.

 

“Nah, you're not even the third or fifth. Though you are the first I've met who did it on accident.” Wirt groaned.

 

“Of course I am. That seems fairly consistent with the theme of my life,” he complained. Dipper had to grin at that. Pessimism shouldn't be so appealing, but Wirt made it so.

 

_Ugh. Not now, hormones_.

 

Forcibly shifting his focus back to the current situation, he considered how to convince Wirt to share at least a little of what was eating at him. He was worried Dipper wouldn't believe whatever strange things he'd seen, so--

 

Oh. _Duh_.

 

“So, you'd probably have figured this out on your own if you're going to be here for any length of time,” he began after what was probably too long of a silence following Wirt’s comment, especially considering the other teen started at the sudden sound of Dippers’ voice, “but you should probably know...you don’t have to worry about me not believing whatever you have to say because Gravity Falls isn't exactly, um… _normal_ ,” he said vaguely.

 

Wirt, unfortunately, began to look nervous, a milder version of that same look of unease that had come over him before he started babbling about reality, back in the hospital.

 

“I... _really_ wish you just meant that in a ‘we’re a quirky, isolated small-town-with-occasional-time-traveling-tourists’ kind of way...but,” he sighed, drooping, “somehow I doubt it.”  He looked very tired, almost resigned.  Dipper shrugged, apologetic.

 

“I mean--yeah, we are that, too, but--you’re right, that’s… not what I meant.  Okay, so um,” he cleared his throat.  It wasn’t often he had to _explain_ the weirdness that was his adopted hometown--usually before he even got the chance, something conveniently supernatural would happen and then, well, no explanation needed.  Not a general one, anyway.  He would definitely still have to explain ‘oh my god was that a sasquatch?’ or ‘did that tree just uproot and move ten feet to the left?’

 

“You know how some places in the world seem to be just like, _magnets_ for natural disasters?”  Wirt nodded nervously.  “Well, Gravity falls is like a magnet for, um, _supernatural_ … things.  Just--pretty much anything mythical, odd, or just _strange._  Like, anything you’ve ever heard isn’t real?  It probably is, and it probably lives around here.”

 

Wirt swallowed, pale.  He was hunched over again.

 

“Oh,” he wheezed.  “That’s--yep.  Exactly what I didn’t want to hear.  Kind of expected it but--” he stopped, his bangs hiding his eyes for a moment, and when he looked back up, his eyes were _wild_.  He stood abruptly, a half-strangled yell of frustration trapped in his throat.

 

“Because it’s not _enough_ that we nearly _die_ half a dozen times--that we wander around in some kind of _limbo_ for over a _week_ being stalked by a soul-eating _monster_ \--of _course_ when we finally escape, we land somewhere literally _oozing_ with even _more_ monsters, stranded _thirty years in the future_!”  Wirt was shaking, voice hoarse.  Dipper was pale.

 

_Oh, god.  Did he just say…?_

 

“You guys were… you were _dead_?” He asked quietly.  Wirt stared at him, still shaking.  After a long, uncomfortable moment, his face fell, right before the rest of him--his knees buckled and left him sitting on the bed again, facing the floor.

 

“I don’t...I don’t think we were... _dead_ ,” he said carefully.  He swallowed, then raised his head.  His eyes looked haunted.  “But...I’m about 95% sure we were _dying_.”  He rubbed his eyes, and Dipper shivered.

 

Wow.  Limbo.  The _afterlife_ , or something like it.  That...was new.  It was rarer and rarer that he encountered something he had no experience with, so while he was immensely curious, he could also admit he was _very_ grateful he’d never experienced it for himself...and a lot more understanding of why Wirt had been so worked up.

 

_Am I even_ alive?

 

Wirt had asked that at the hospital, and Dipper had wondered about it.  Now, it made sense.

 

Wirt continued speaking, eyes still covered.  “And--and the worst part--well, _hah_ , not the _worst_ , but...I didn’t even _know_ , exactly, what that place was or just _how_ we got there right up until before we escaped.  I didn’t _remember_ , and I--I barely even _questioned_ all the...the _oddities_ because I was so focused on just--just getting myself and Greg home, I just wanted to go _home_ ,” his hands fell from his face, revealing moist gray eyes.

 

“I just want to go _home_ ,” he whispered, and that _look_ hit Dipper like a punch to the solar-plexus.

 

It was selfish of him, but he _really_ hoped Wirt didn’t start crying.  He could barely handle the rare times Mabel cried, and she was his _sister_.  He didn’t know how to handle tears in general.

 

He stood from his chair, motions a bit stilted, and Wirt looked up at him in surprise.  He may be pretty terrible at offering comfort, but at least he could just...be there, physically, instead of staring across at him like some kind of interrogator.  He sat next to Wirt on the bed again, trying not to make direct eye contact--did that make it more or less awkward?--but unable to help glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

 

Wirt looked a little startled, a little unsure, and his eyes were still shiny, but--no actual crying, yet.

 

Good.  So far, at least.  Alright.  He coughed into his hand.

 

“I.  Uh.”  He slowly raised his hand, placing it on Wirt’s nearest shoulder and just...leaving it there, like a dead parrot.  That.  Was probably not all that comforting, but...he didn’t think either of them could handle it if Dipper stepped it up to an awkward side hug.

 

This would be so much easier if he didn’t have a rapidly developing _cru_ \--

 

_Not helping.  Don’t think about it._

 

“I just...I’ll-- _we’ll_ do our best to get you and your brother home, okay?  If we can,” he amended, finally turning his head to actually look at the person he was talking to.  Wirt was staring at him with wide eyes.  “I _promise_ , that...if there’s a way to do it, get you back to your right time, we’ll find it, okay?”  Wirt let out a shaky breath, nodding.

 

“I--okay,” he said after a moment.  He still looked pale, tired, and worn, but at least he no longer looked so...beaten.  Dipper didn’t want to leave it at just that, though.

 

“And--and even if there _isn’t_ \--we’ll still get you back to Massachusetts, at least--it won’t be _ideal_ , but--and, and of _course_ you two can stay here in the meantime, Grunkle Stan may put up a fuss but he won’t actually mind.”  As his fumbling reassurances fell haphazardly directly from his brain to his tongue, he saw that, somehow, they were actually working.  Wirt unwound a little, bit by bit, as he spoke.  And Dipper knew he’d probably agonize over how stupid he sounded later, but he couldn’t help but continue if it meant the other teen was even a little more at ease.

 

“And the thing about time travel?  If--if there _is_ a way to get you back to your time--you don’t have to worry if it takes a little while to find it, because you’d be going back to right after you left, anyway, so--so time would have passed for _you_ , but...not for anyone else.  So...so for right now, you can relax, because either you’ll get back to the exact time you left, or...well, if not... _gah_ ,”  he slumped.  

 

For some reason, he was physically incapable of being positive without tacking on conditioning statements.  For Dipper, knowing the worst-case scenario ahead of time was actually _comforting_ , because _uncertainty_ scared him more than almost anything else, but he knew that...wasn’t really true, for normal people.

 

Wirt, however, surprised him.  He looked...like he was _smiling_ , almost.  Just...a slight little upturn at one corner of his mouth.

 

Something entirely unrelated to his actual organs shifted in Dipper’s chest at the sight of it.

 

_Oh, boy._

 

“I...yeah, I understand what you’re trying to say,” Wirt finally said, and at least one worry of Dipper’s resolved (though he now had about ten more to take it’s place, maybe more if his brain continued to gather random cute details about Wirt that he would most definitely lose sleep over.)

 

“I mean, I'm still worried--I can't help but be worried, I'm _always_ worried about something or other _but_ \--” he shrugged, a grateful look tempering the sadness in his eyes, “I'm definitely, uh, _less_ worried now, so… thank you. For,” he gestured vaguely to himself and the food and out the window, “all this.” He clasped his hands together, giving Dipper another half-smile, when he blinked several times, apparently just now noticing the hand on his shoulder. He flushed and Dipper yanked his hand away.

 

“Sorry! Sorry,” he repeated. Wirt freed one of his hands and wrapped it around his arm, right below where Dippers’ hand had been. He shrugged, staring at his shoulder a second longer then back at Dipper.

 

“It's… fine. Like I said, I appreciate that you… “ he bit his lip, then looked down at his lap, where his other hand was picking at the hem of his sweater. He seemed to mull something over for a moment, then:

 

“I know I'm a bit… that my constant _worrying_ tends to get on people's nerves--I get told to calm down a _lot_ , which doesn't help at _all_ , but _you_ …” his eyes flickered to the side for a moment, taking in what felt like surprise on Dipper’s face, “... But you actually, um, _helped_ calm me down, which is new. With the breathing and the,” he tapped his shoulder with the hand on his arm. He shifted a little, crossing one leg behind the other, which caused his knee to barely press against the side of Dipper’s knee, and he resolutely wasn't thinking about it.

 

(He was thinking about it.  Obsessively.)

 

It didn't prevent him from responding to Wirt, though.

 

“Hey, I didn't want you to calm down because you were _bugging_ me or anything. ” God, he was beginning to think the other teen had some kind of complex-he acted like he thought anything he did or wanted _imposed_ on other people.

 

Wirt just fidgeted again.  “I...I didn’t _think_ I was, but um...you...looked kind of _uncomfortable_ , and uh…” he shrugged.  

 

Dipper laughed nervously.  Oh, he was uncomfortable, all right--but he couldn’t let Wirt know that.  Or at least, couldn’t let him get the wrong idea about it.  Or the _right_ idea, either--which meant it was time for some half-truths.

 

“It's, um--I was only uncomfortable because I can relate? Like, it was an empathetic discomfort--I uh, I still panic about things sometimes, but not as much, and seeing you… get like that, well… “ he shrugged. “I can't help but think, ‘I hate that feeling, he probably does, too--and wouldn't it have been nice to have someone to help?’ So. I… did,” he finished lamely.  But even though it'd been clunky, at least his explanation had glossed over the ‘and also I'm pretty sure you're about to be my new favorite person’ aspect of his discomfort.

 

Wirt tilted his head. “You mean, no one’s ever...helped you like that?” He asked a bit sadly.  Dipper just raised an eyebrow.

 

“You _have_ met my family, right?  They care, but I don’t think they even understand how calm _works_.”  Wirt snorted, then clapped a hand over his mouth in embarrassment.  Dipper just grinned.  Man.  He was totally screwed, but at least he got to enjoy Wirt being adorable.

 

Wirt lowered his hand.  He was smiling, but it was still tinged with embarrassment.  “You uh, I can see your point.  Oh, man.  I can’t imagine dealing with more than one Greg.  Well, I can, but I think I’m going to have enough nightmares as it is, don’t, uh, need _that_ idea on top of things.”

 

“Better make sure Greg stays away from our copy machine then,” Dipper said with a grin.  Wirt chuckled a bit in response.  Dipper’s grin turned into more of a wince.

 

“No, really, that’s not something you want him around,” he said emphatically. Wirt stared at him, mouth slightly open.  He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed.

 

“I’d ask if you were serious, but…”  DIpper shrugged, sheepish.

 

“Heh.  Yeah.  I, um, not-quite-accidentally made ten of myself once when I was twelve.  It...went just like you’d think it would.”  Wirt stared blandly at him.

 

“I...don’t know how I think that would go.  I’ve never asked myself, ‘what would I do if I had more of me?’  I can barely deal with _one_ of me.”  Dipper grimaced.

 

“Well, the answer for _me_ turned out to be, ‘you end up punched, kicked, locked in a closet, and a new Dipper Prime is elected in your place,’ so…” Wirt gaped.

 

“Oh my god, that sounds...horrifying.”  Dipper shrugged.

 

“Eh.  I mean, most of them were wiped out when the sprinklers went off--they melted back into ink, which,” he considered, remembering the incident, “yeah, I guess _that_ was pretty messed up, seeing them dissolve all ‘wicked-witch-of-the-west’ style, but I really only got to know Tyrone--the first clone--and he wasn’t affected, so we made up, and he stuck around awhile.”  He frowned.  “Until he forgot and drank a soda.”  He was still kind of upset about that.

 

Wirt was still just...staring, hand almost covering his mouth.

 

“That’s...even _worse_ ,” he said eventually.  His stare turned a bit glassy.  “And it raises _so many_ philosophical questions…”  Dipper sighed.

 

“I know--I’ve pretty much had to relearn everything I thought I knew since I started living here,” he told Wirt.  The other boy shook himself a little, then looked at Dipper.

 

“You uh, you haven’t always lived here then?” Wirt asked innocently, and Dipper felt himself get a bit tense.

 

“Ah...no.  We started visiting here during the summer when Mabel and I were twelve, but we’ve only lived here since last September,” he said, hoping that would satisfy Wirt.  But Wirt just tilted his head, politely curious.

 

“Oh.  Then, your parents…?”  Wirt’s eyes widened and he turned pale.  “O-oh my god, I’m so sorry--that’s--that’s _really_ none of my business,” he fretted, and Dipper sighed.  He couldn’t really fault Wirt his curiosity, not when he was way, way worse.

 

“It's fine. They’re, um, not dead or anything,” he clarified, scratching the back of his head.  “They just...got divorced last year, and, well…” he sighed again.  It was still a bit of a sore point for him.

 

But Wirt held up his hand.  “No, you--you don’t have to explain, really--I, uh” he hunched his shoulders.  “Greg is--actually only my half-brother.  I don’t think I mentioned that?  Not that it matters, but--yeah.  My--our--mom divorced my dad when I was 6, and remarried my step-dad when I was 9.  I mean, obviously my mom remarried if he’s my _step_ -dad but…” he trailed off, shrugging.  Dipper felt a little better, knowing that the other teen could empathize, but mostly he felt even more like a hypocrite.  He couldn’t keep expecting Wirt to share things and not return the gesture.  He’d had about enough secrets in his life, and this wasn’t really a secret anyway.

 

(Even if they never talked about it, ever.)

 

“No, it’s…” he spread his hands wide, and the weight of _never talking about it_ loosened his tongue more than guilt ever could.  “So, like I said before, Mabel and I have been coming here every summer since we were twelve, and, we didn’t really keep in touch with our parents while we were here?  Well, Mabel wrote letters, but…” But she never got any back.  They never even got so much as a phone call from their parents, except the day before they were due back in Piedmont, to confirm travel arrangements.  He hadn’t even realized how abnormal that was, that their parents never checked in, until he’d mentioned it to Wendy their second summer.

 

“Anyway, so last summer--last summer we don’t see or hear from our parents for three months, as usual, and on the ride home from the bus station...they tell us they’re getting a divorce.”  They had been so calm, so matter-of-fact about it, as if they weren’t changing everything forever.  He remembered how it had shocked him, the icy fear of an uncertain future quick to gather in his chest.  He remembered the look of utter devastation on his sister’s face.

 

“And not only were they getting divorced, but they had already filed...back in _June_.  And they just,” he held up his hands, palms holding air, “ _didn’t tell us_.  ‘Didn’t want to ruin your summer,’, they said, because it obviously wasn’t so we’d have no input while they went ahead and made plans for us that would affect the _rest of our lives_ ,” he bit out.  Wirt’s gaze on him was wide-eyed.  Dipper knew he was probably ranting, but he couldn’t seem to stop, now that he’d started.  There was just too much pressure built up behind this particular issue.

 

“Like the fact that, when we got home, all of our stuff was packed in boxes.  ‘Oh, didn’t we mention?  Your father is moving across the country and your mother is moving out of the country,” he mimed two mouths talking with his hands.  “‘So you two need to decide who’s going to live with who--or you can both live with your mother half the year, and your father the other half.  Decide fast, though--school starts in a week!’”  His tone was sharp and biting by the end, staring at his own hands, angry at the stand-ins for his parents.  Wirt was frowning as well.

 

“They really did that?  That’s…,” he paused, pursing his lips.  “I’m trying to think of a non-invective, yet more intense word for terrible, but…” he huffed, “yeah, what they did was--terrible,” he told Dipper, who sighed.

 

“Yeah, well...it was certainly a pretty terrible week.”  He didn’t think he’d ever spent such a long stretch of time in constant anger.  And he never, _ever_ wanted Mabel to cry that much, not ever again.  It was really _that_ which had helped cement his decision.

 

“But at least, in the end, we ended up...here.  With family.”  And as far as Dipper was concerned, _all_ of his family lived here.

 

(He resolutely didn’t think about how, even though it was what he had wanted, it had still _hurt_ , so much, how easily his parents had agreed to essentially _give them up_ , how even now, their only correspondence was a monthly check to Grunkle Stan for their care--and if Dipper and Mabel _didn’t matter_ to their own parents, why should _his parents_ matter _to him_ \--?)

 

Wirt just looked apologetic.  “That’s... good, at least.  Still though,” he hunched his shoulders, “I’m... really sorry that your parents… um, that you had to go through that.”  He clasped his hands together, a furrow between his brows.  “And I’m _really_ sorry I brought it up.  Just, um, tell me to keep my big nose out of your business next time,” he suggested.  Dipper huffed.

 

“All you did was ask a simple question--I’m the one who basically unloaded a dumptruck of angst on you,” he said.  Then he frowned.  “And hey, your nose isn’t big, it’s,” he waved a hand in the general direction of Wirt’s face, scrambling for an adjective, “very, uh, _dignified_.”

 

Wirt blinked at that, touching the aforementioned body part reflexively, before raising an eyebrow.  “You...do you mean _distinguished?”_ He asked with a flush.  Dipper grinned.

 

“Yeah, that too,” he said cheekily, and Wirt rolled his eyes, groaning a little.  But there was a definite pleased cast to his face, which made Dipper smile.  A smile that faded when he realized that Wirt… still hadn’t actually told him quite what had happened, really. They had gotten _way_ off track…

 

(It was just so _easy_ to talk to Wirt, though, a natural back-and-forth that he managed with very few people.)

 

He blew out a plosive breath.

 

“Look, Wirt,” he began, the other boy cocking his head at his tone, “I think I was maybe a bit... too demanding earlier.  About--you know, about what, uh, _happened_ …” Wirt, predictably, tensed a little, and that was all Dipper needed to know he was making the right choice.  

 

“I think you told me enough that I can start researching--you don’t have to tell me anything else,” he reassured Wirt, even though his curiosity was almost literally burning an ulcer in the back of his throat.  He paused.

 

“Unless you _want_ to talk to someone about it.” He also didn’t want him to think Dipper was brushing him off.  “I uh, know the value of a good listening ear.”  He cleared his throat.  “Which is why I apparently couldn’t help myself with the throwing of parent-problems at you.  Sorry about that. Again.” His face felt red.  But Wirt just shrugged.

 

“It’s um, it’s okay. I mean, before…” he hesitated, “just, _before_ , I wouldn’t say I was one for sharing deep, dark secrets, but uh,” he smiled sadly, “it appears it’s becoming a habit.”  Dipper tilted his head in askance at the sudden shift in Wirt’s demeanour--from worry to a more melancholy kind of upset--but held his tongue, waiting.  Wirt worried at his lip, lost in thought for a full minute before looking back at Dipper, hesitance clear in his eyes.  He fought past it, though, and tentatively asked:

 

“When you... when you’re researching, could you maybe... look up some names for me?  If... it’s probably a long shot, I mean, I doubt they have the records you’d need here in Oregon, but…” he trailed off.

 

_Names_ ?  Why would he be asking about names?  And why would he need records--oh.   _Records_. _Oh, man_.

 

“Oh,” he exhaled, looking at Wirt with new understanding. “You... met _other people_ there, didn’t you?”  Wirt nodded slowly, unhappily.  Dipper bit his lip.  Realizing people you’d met, maybe even befriended, were possibly dead and definitely beyond your help... no wonder Wirt was a mixed bag of emotions.

 

“You want to know if they…?”   _Made it out alive?_

 

“No,” Wirt slumped, lips thin, “I... based on the way, the-the buildings and towns looked, and the people dressed, it’s... I’m pretty sure they’ve... been there a while,” he concluded.  Dipper winced.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dipper said simply, sincerely.  Wirt shrugged, rubbing his arm in an increasingly-familiar gesture of comfort.

 

“It’s... well, not _fine_ , but I... think they’re probably okay.  I mean, as okay as you can be... there.  I just wish I knew for sure, you know?” Dipper nodded.  He supposed even knowing for sure that an afterlife _existed_ didn’t exactly guarantee you knew what _happened_ there.

 

“So you want me to see if I can find out what happened to them... on this plane of existence, at least?”  Wirt snorted.

 

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it.  Doesn’t make my asking any less... macabre…” Dipper huffed, gently bumping their shoulders together.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with being curious--I mean, the only other option is to let your questions fester in the back of your mind for the rest of your life.  And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather live with a harsh truth than the unknown,” he said.  He smiled a bit, always a little happy when he got to share his personal philosophies.

 

Wirt just stared at him.

 

“Wirt…?” he asked concerned.  The other boy was so still and pale... he hadn’t stopped breathing, had he?

 

His unspoken question was answered when Wirt suddenly released a harsh, sudden laugh--if it could even be called that.  It was quickly followed by more harsh, painful laughter.

 

“Wirt…?” Dipper repeated, no longer concerned, but alarmed.  Wirt--now having dropped to his back on the bed to laugh at the ceiling--appeared to be near-hysterical, in the medical sense.

 

_Dear God, I’ve pushed him too far…_  But what had he even…?  What?  What was he supposed to do?

 

But while Dipper was panicking about Wirt’s... episode, the taller teen had managed to calm himself down somewhat, though his breathing was still shuddery.

 

“I--it’s not even _funny_ ,” he complained, hand on his chest, glaring down at his lungs as if they had personally betrayed him.  “Why am I laughing?”

 

“Laughter is the best medicine?”   _Mild PTSD?_

 

Wirt snorted in between catching his breath.  “Maybe it was just the sudden realization that my life is one big, cosmic joke?” He offered.  Dipper scratched his head.

 

“Uh…”

 

“I mean, what am I supposed to do if my harsh truth _is_ the Unknown?” He continued.

 

“Is--is that a famous riddle I’m supposed to know…?” Dipper asked, bewildered.  Wirt snorted, and Dipper was relieved to hear it sounded more like normal laughter.  The other teen sighed, scrubbed a hand over his face, then canted his head to look up at Dipper.

 

“It’s not a riddle, it’s just... that's what they called it, that place.  The...Unknown.” He shivered a little, and Dipper couldn’t blame him.  It made sense, though--he’d definitely heard death called “the great unknown” before…  Wirt’s tongue darted out over chapped lips to wet them before he spoke again, and while that was certainly distracting, he didn’t miss what he said next:

 

“And... as it turned out, the way I escaped was by me realizing I... we, were _dying_ , and if that isn’t accepting a hard truth, well…”  Dipper made a sympathetic noise.  Okay, he could see how what he said had affected Wirt, now.

 

“And I guess it just struck me that, since I’ve landed here in--in the future, I’ve been trying to ignore, or, or pretend that none of it happened... even though it was facing reality that... saved us, in the end…” he trailed off, pensive.  Dipper hesitated for a moment, but then remembered Wirt’s earlier appreciation of his pale attempts at comfort, and placed a slightly-clammy hand on Wirt’s wool-covered forearm.  The other boy broke off his deep thinking and blinked up at him, and Dipper cleared his throat.

 

_Words, man, words!_

 

“Like I said, I totally get--wanting to ignore something unpleasant, but it does take _some_ time to... to work through everything, so.  So don’t think you have to uh, come to terms with everything right this second, okay?  Just, uh, process things at your own pace--sleep on it a little maybe.”  He bit his lip.  “And I really meant it when I said--if you need someone to talk to, about--whatever, I’m, uh, I’m here for you, man,” _pat, pat, wince--_

 

_\--oh that was_ so _bad!_ _\--_

 

“...thank you,” Wirt said quietly, stopping Dipper’s mortification in its’ tracks.

 

“It’s no problem,” he assured him quickly, even though it kind of _was_ , because _I’m already willing to embarrass myself for his sake, damn it, too soon!_

 

(Dipper shared very few traits with his sister when it came to romance; but though his crushes were few and far between, when they did hit, like Mabel, he fell hard and he fell _fast_.  And they _lasted_.)

 

“...I’m very tired,” Wirt said next, almost surprised, breaking Dipper out of his internal struggles.  And yeah, Dipper thought catching sight of the bags under his eyes and the scratches on his face, he looked it.

 

“So, ‘sleeping on it’, then?”  Dipper got up off the bed to give him more room and started gathering the remains of their lunch.  Wirt looked up at him silently for a moment before slowly shifting to sit up.

 

“I...well, yes.  If that’s okay?”  Dipper shoved aside a pile of trash on his desk and placed the food there, turning to give Wirt an incredulous look.

 

“Dude, if you need to sleep, you need to sleep.”  Wirt looked hesitantly towards his pillow and Dipper figured he knew what the reason was.

 

“You can sleep somewhere else if you want, but, uh--my sheets aren’t dirty or anything, that’s mostly just inkstains--I tend to chew through pens…”  Wirt looked to the pillow then back at Dipper.

 

“That wasn’t--I mean, I was wondering what those were--but, are you sure you don’t mind…?”  Dipper propped his hip against the edge of the desk, gesturing to the floors below.

 

“The only other places to sleep are downstairs, and it’s a bit, um, _noisy_ this time of day, and it’s not like I was planning on sleeping any time soon.”  And he tended to sleep at his desk half the time anyway.  Speaking of which…

 

“I was going to go ahead and get started on some research.  I can take it downstairs, or--”

 

“No!  No, I mean, um,”  Wirt flushed, “you don’t, uh, have to do that for my sake.  Unless you want to. Or.  Um…”  Dipper looked at Wirt suspiciously.  He’d already figured out that Wirt hated ‘inconveniencing’ people, but his reaction had been a little too vehement.  He wondered…

 

“Do you _want_ me to stay in here while you sleep?”  Wirt’s flush only deepened.

 

“...it’s so _stupid_ …” Wirt muttered, and Dipper sighed.

 

“It’s not stupid.  Mabel and I shared a room for nearly 14 years.  And while the value of my personal space usually trumps everything else, there _is_ something really reassuring about falling asleep to the sound of someone else’s breathing.”  Even if that breathing occasionally turned into meows.  He didn’t think Wirt would do that, though.

 

“That was...quite poetic,” Wirt said with an odd smile.  Dipper shrugged.

 

“I’m crap at poetry--most of the time I just open my mouth and words fall out,” _especially when in the presence of a crush_.

 

“Prose, then,” Wirt decided, then yawned.  He covered his mouth, a little flushed again.  Dipper grinned.

 

“Go ahead and sleep--I’ll be right here,” he gestured towards his desk.  Wirt was still a little hesitant, but eventually began to shuffle into a horizontal position on the bed.  Dipper started tidying his desk to occupy himself, so he wouldn’t stare at Wirt like a creeper.

 

But before long, soft snores were drifting over from the bed.  Dipper smiled stupidly at the curve of Wirt’s back facing him, then sighed.  He could moon/fret over Wirt later.  He quietly scooted his chair up to his desk.  Then he cracked his neck, cracked his knuckles, and cracked open his copy of Journal 1.

 

He had a lot of work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was 11, I went on a Girl Scout trip for a week, with adults my parents knew well and trusted. And they called me at least three times.
> 
> So, yeah, I think there's plenty of canon evidence that the Pines parents are aloof at best, and neglectful at worst.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to skimmingthesurface and SylviaW1991 for Wirt and Greg's last names and a few other small headcanons--I like them so much, it felt like blasphemy to change them.
> 
> (Also, Robert Frost really suits OTGW, huh? Not just this poem, which supplied the title of this fic...)


End file.
